Armies Are Red, Fingers Turn Blue
by AdequateLexicon
Summary: A brief history of the Soviet Union, from the death of the tsar to its' dissolution. I tried to make it as historically accurate as possible, and yes, it's a little angsty. Despite everything, I would say it has a happy ending. RussiaxChina is mentioned.


**1916**

Russia sat outside on the ground, feeling slightly numbed by the snow beneath him, but only a little bit. He shivered slightly. He was used to the cold, or should have been, anyway, but for some reason he could never completely adjust. _'General winter will certainly be my death,' _he thought. It wasn't such a bad way to go, if that was the way it had to happen. At least he would die in the snow, and in a way, wasn't this bound to happen?

He groaned. He was feeling sick, very sick, and hungry. He was a nation, so the hunger he felt was probably only because most of his people were starving, but it still ached. Why couldn't nations feel like their leaders? _'The tsar probably isn't hungry right now,' _he thought to himself. Hell, even the bourgeoisie were better off than he was, and weren't they middle class? Or maybe they weren't. Russia felt his mind going. _'I will surely die,' _he thought. He tried to shake such morbid thoughts from his mind. _'No, things have to get better, they have to.' _He laid down in the snow on his back and allowed his mind to wander.

_'Wouldn't it be lovely if the world were one with me?' _He smiled as he imagined a world where everything was sunny. He pictured himself and all of the other nations smiling in a field of sunflowers. Sunflowers were beautiful. Would he ever see another one again? He pictured everyone smiling big, beautiful smiles as they joined together under a socialist state. As far as he was concerned, that was the only way he could survive by this point.

Russia coughed, and soon his cough turned into a fit, complete with shuddering. He curled in on himself in the cold of the snow. For the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing certain death upon his boss, even if that meant his own death. He couldn't explain the source of his bitterness, only that he suddenly desired it more than anything. Of course, he knew he was probably tempting fate. _'I take it back,' _he thought, only he didn't take it back at all.

Not really.

**1917**

Russia had a lot of revolutions. He wasn't sure why this happened, it just did. (It was largely why he felt little pity when being told, from either party, the long and convoluted tale of the American Revolution.) So it was only a matter of time before there was another one; in fact, nowadays it seemed like all his people did was have revolutions. First, they killed the tzar. Then, they established a new political regime. Hell, then he had a civil war to deal with.

It was not a good time for Russia. The revolutions felt like heart attacks, but the civil war was like being sawed in half. Not only that, but England and France and America and even Japan had all intervened as well. He had left _them _alone in their civil wars, hadn't he? It was most unfortunate, having a host of well-meaning nations trying to have a fight with you when it didn't even concern them. On top of that was Ukraine's anarchist phase, which was poorly timed and did nearly nothing to help out in the war, and all in all the entire thing left Russia feeling tired and hopeless.

However, when the time came for Russia to be introduced to his new boss, he did so gracefully. He didn't seem so bad, really, though Russia could not see how he was any better than the tsar. It didn't matter, he supposed.

But there was that word he kept saying, that word that sent a tingle down his spine when he heard it. He didn't yet know what it meant, but the word was exciting. In a way he couldn't quite put his finger on, the word seemed to give him life.

That was when Russia began to love communism.

**1924**

It was a very sad day for Russia.

Of course, as for the citizens, the reaction was mixed. Some people had loved him, some had hated, and it was likely that some had not formed an opinion one way or the other. However, it seemed that Vladimir Lenin had cared for him, and cared for his well-being, and so when he died, Russia felt it immediately.

It wasn't like Russia hadn't known it was going to happen, because he had. Of course he had. There had been the gunshot, and the strokes, and all in all it was only a matter of time before it had finally happened.

Many went to his funeral, and many commented on his death. China had something to say about it, and as much as Russia wanted to process his words, at some point he had just sat there and listened to his voice. It was very beautiful, and he would later find out that his words had been beautiful, too. He loved the way China sounded when he tried to speak Russian; the effort was brilliant, and while there were grammatical errors here and there, he appreciated everything.

England had his comments. His boss called Lenin's birth the worst thing to happen to Russia, citing his death as the second worst. Russia fumed; this was no time for eloquency. His words were so eloquent he wanted to choke.

Of course, when he had died, Russia had long since had a new boss; in fact, he had had several. However, Russia had held a special place in his heart for Lenin, and found his death utterly devastating.

And so, seemingly to serve utterly as foil to Lenin, there was _this _boss, this boss that he currently found himself under the rule of. The name 'Stalin' drove fear into Russia's heart, which was peculiar, because fear was something he rarely felt. Lonliness, sadness, anger; those he was accquanted with on almost a molecular level, but fear was largely uncommon. This fear was even different than the one he experienced with Belarus. With her, he feared for his safety; with this man, he feared for his life.

**1945**

Elation should have been coursing through his veins. After all, certainly it was doing so for his allies, wasn't it? Well. Former allies. Or was it soon to be former? Russia held his head in his hands. He could no longer keep track of what his bosses were planning, only that deception and bombs seemed to play a large part in it.

Still, they had won the war. That was something, wasn't it? Yes, the Allies had crushed the Axis Powers, and it really did seem like things would be okay. He knew for a fact that America and England were off celebrating somewhere, likely with alcohol and sex, and in all honesty he didn't know or care about the whereabouts of any other Allies. Soon it wouldn't even matter.

Russia downed the bottle of vodka he had been holding in his hands. It was alright; after all, they had won the war, so it was okay to drink. He felt a momentary loneliness at drinking alone, but once again, it was alright. He had been doing it for ages. Wherever America was, it didn't matter. He had someone, but in the end, would it really have any importance? Russia conceded that it would not. It was one of the few times that he didn't wish for everyone to be one with him, because after he was finished with him, Russia wouldn't want to be one with America for all of the tea in China.

**1947**

Where the hell was a nuclear war when you needed it?

Russia failed to understand why America was still on the map. He had been promised a big, smoldering crater right where that smug capitalist pig was living. Damn it all to hell. If things didn't improve, it would probably be _his _flag on the moon. Russia clenched his fists in frustration. He would rather die than have to look up at the night sky every night, knowing that the stars and stripes were laughing at him from far away, though not nearly far enough.

It was during these times that Russia enjoyed a close relationship with China. Very close. Russia loved nothing more than to sit by the fireplace and discuss things like the people's war with his favorite communist country. Yes, it was the glory of communism that kept them together, kept them one, and it was largely through this bond that Russia continued to continue his war that was not really a war with America.

But Russia's relationship with China only grew. At some point, when they could no longer deny the fact that their public displays of affection and nightly regime of vodka and sex probably meant that they were in a relationship, they decided that it was so. Russia didn't mind. He had always had a sort of obsession with China, and although he had no proof, he expected that things were not going to last, so he treated every second with China as if it were precious. (Besides that, while he suspected that America did not really have nukes, one could never be certain. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to do it leaving anything unsaid or any action not done.)

Later, however, things began to be rocky. The fact was, China was so needy. It was a little suffocating. He constantly wanted him to sign pieces of paper saying that he loved him, which he did with reluctance. Soon his reluctance caused distrust between them. China was moody and distant, and in the early sixties they officially broke up. It was an angry, dramatic breakup, with loud clanging noises disturbing the countries unfortunate enough to surround them. The sound of China's wok slamming against his spigot was one Russia would never forget.

**1990**

Russia was all alone.

His house was completely empty. Even the clingy Belarus was long gone. Everything was supposed to be fine, so why did everything feel empty instead? The Baltic States were gone, his sisters were gone. His house had never felt so big.

Why did it have to be like this? In fact, it had been things like _this _that he was afraid of. _'See, this is why everything would be easier if everyone was one with me,'_ he thought to himself. Then he wouldn't have to deal with the heartbreak caused by feminine Asian nations who had panda fetishes. He wouldn't have to deal with the sheer lonliness of being completely, utterly solitary. He was worse than England. At least England knew how to pretend he liked it.

Then Russia thought of a plan, a brilliant plan. If there was no Soviet Union, then he wouldn't be alone. He would just be Russia, which would be fine, and then he would only be as alone as anyone else was. Yes, this was perfect!

For the first time in a long time, Russia smiled.

**Present Day**

It was still dark out when Russia got into the waiting taxi. Since America was having yet another world meeting, he had to wake up extra early to catch a plane just so he would be there on time. It was frustrating, but what could you do?

As the taxi drove him to the airport, he looked around at all of the familiar buildings. Of course, some of them were foreign. Staring at him was a McDonalds, which had been like a slap in the face when it had been built, but now it was more of a scar that only hurt if you thought about it too much. America was always infringing on the culture of others, though. If he had managed to put a McDonalds in England, it was only a matter of time before there was one in his home as well.

There was still some time before he would get to the airport, so Russia allowed himself to daydream a little. He thought about the Arctic, and how its' oil would be his. Then he thought of Georgia, and how in all likliehood it was also be his again, too. China would come back to him (they were already on fairly good terms) and it would not be long before they were one again. Russia smiled to himself. He was Russia, and he would live for forever and a day.


End file.
